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The first impression felt by the passengers of the Pilgrim in presence of this terrible catastrophe was a combination of pity and horror. They only thought of this frightful death of Captain Hull and the five sailors. This fearful scene had just taken place almost under their eyes, while they could do nothing to save the poor men. They had not even been able to arrive in time to pick up the whale-boat’s crew, their unfortunate companions, wounded, but still living, and to oppose the Pilgrim’s hull to the jubarte’s formidable blows. Captain Hull and his men had forever disappeared.

When the schooner arrived at the fatal place, Mrs. Weldon fell on her knees, her hands raised toward Heaven.

“Let us pray!” said the pious woman.

She was joined by her little Jack, who threw himself on his knees, weeping, near his mother. The poor child understood it all. Dick Sand, Nan, Tom, and the other blacks remained standing, their heads bowed. All repeated the prayer that Mrs. Weldon addressed to God, recommending to His infinite goodness those who had just appeared before Him.

Then Mrs. Weldon, turning to her companions, “And now, my friends,” said she, “let us ask Heaven for strength and courage for ourselves.”

Yes! They could not too earnestly implore the aid of Him who can do all things, for their situation was one of the gravest!

This ship which carried them had no longer a captain to command her, no longer a crew to work her. She was in the middle of that immense Pacific Ocean, hundreds of miles from any land, at the mercy of the winds and waves.

What fatality then had brought that whale in the Pilgrim’s course? What still greater fatality had urged the unfortunate Captain Hull, generally so wise, to risk everything in order to complete his cargo? And what a catastrophe to count among the rarest of the annals of whale-fishing was this one, which did not allow of the saving of one of the whale-boat’s sailors!

Yes, it was a terrible fatality! In fact, there was no longer a seaman on board the Pilgrim. Yes, one—Dick Sand—and he was only a beginner, a young man of fifteen. Captain, boatswain, sailors, it may be said that the whole crew was now concentrated in him.

On board there was one lady passenger, a mother and her son, whose presence would render the situation much more difficult. Then there were also some blacks, honest men, courageous and zealous without a doubt, ready to obey whoever should undertake to command them, but ignorant of the simplest notions of the sailor’s craft.

Dick Sand stood motionless, his arms crossed, looking at the place where Captain Hull had just been swallowed up—Captain Hull, his protector, for whom he felt a filial affection. Then his eyes searched the horizon, seeking to discover some ship, from which he would demand aid and assistance, to which he might be able at least to confide Mrs. Weldon. He would not abandon the Pilgrim, no, indeed, without having tried his best to bring her into port. But Mrs. Weldon and her little boy would be in safety. He would have had nothing more to fear for those two beings, to whom he was devoted body and soul.

The ocean was deserted. Since the disappearance of the jubarte, not a speck came to alter the surface. All was sky and water around the Pilgrim. The young novice knew only too well that he was beyond the routes followed by the ships of commerce, and that the other whalers were cruising still farther away at the fishing-grounds.

However, the question was, to look the situation in the face, to see things as they were. That is what Dick Sand did, asking God, from the depths of his heart, for aid and succor. What resolution was he going to take?

At that moment Negoro appeared on the deck, which he had left after the catastrophe. What had been felt in the presence of this irreparable misfortune by a being so enigmatical, no one could tell. He had contemplated the disaster without making a gesture, without departing from his speechlessness. His eye had evidently seized all the details of it. But if at such a moment one could think of observing him, he would be astonished at least, because not a muscle of his impassible face had moved. At any rate, and as if he had not heard it, he had not responded to the pious appeal of Mrs. Weldon, praying for the engulfed crew. Negoro walked aft, there even where Dick Sand was standing motionless. He stopped three steps from the novice.

“You wish to speak to me?” asked Dick Sand.

“I wish to speak to Captain Hull,” replied Negoro, coolly, “or, in his absence, to boatswain Howik.”

“You know well that both have perished!” cried the novice.

“Then who commands on board now?” asked Negoro, very insolently.

“I,” replied Dick Sand, without hesitation.

“You!” said Negoro, shrugging his shoulders. “A captain of fifteen years?”

“A captain of fifteen years!” replied the novice, advancing toward the cook.

The latter drew back.

“Do not forget it,” then said Mrs. Weldon. “There is but one captain here—Captain Sand, and it is well for all to remember that he will know how to make himself obeyed.”

Negoro bowed, murmuring in an ironical tone a few words that they could not understand, and he returned to his post.

We see, Dick’s resolution was taken.

Meanwhile the schooner, under the action of the breeze, which commenced to freshen, had already passed beyond the vast shoal of crustaceans.

Dick Sand examined the condition of the sails; then his eyes were cast on the deck. He had then this sentiment, that, if a frightful responsibility fell upon him in the future, it was for him to have the strength to accept it. He dared to look at the survivors of the Pilgrim, whose eyes were now fixed on him. And, reading in their faces that he could count on them, he said to them in two words, that they could in their turn count on him.

Dick Sand had, in all sincerity, examined his conscience.

If he was capable of taking in or setting the sails of the schooner, according to circumstances, by employing the arms of Tom and his companions, he evidently did not yet possess all the knowledge necessary to determine his position by calculation.

In four or five years more, Dick Sand would know thoroughly that beautiful and difficult sailor’s craft. He would know how to use the sextant—that instrument which Captain Hull’s hand had held every day, and which gave him the height of the stars. He would read on the chronometer the hour of the meridian of Greenwich, and from it would be able to deduce the longitude by the hour angle. The sun would be made his counselor each day. The moon—the planets would say to him, “There, on that point of the ocean, is thy ship!” That firmament, on which the stars move like the hands of a perfect clock, which nothing shakes nor can derange, and whose accuracy is absolute—that firmament would tell him the hours and the distances. By astronomical observations he would know, as his captain had known every day, nearly to a mile, the place occupied by the Pilgrim, and the course followed as well as the course to follow.

And now, by reckoning, that is by the progress measured on the log, pointed out by the compass, and corrected by the drift, he must alone ask his way.

However, he did not falter.

Mrs. Weldon understood all that was passing in the young novice’s resolute heart.

“Thank you, Dick,” she said to him, in a voice which did not tremble. “Captain Hull is no more. All his crew have perished with him. The fate of the ship is in your hands! Dick, you will save the ship and those on board!”

“Yes, Mrs. Weldon,” replied Dick Sand, “yes! I shall attempt it, with the aid of God!”

“Tom and his companions are honest men on whom you can depend entirely.”

“I know it, and I shall make sailors of them, and we shall work together. With fine weather that will be easy. With bad weather—well, with bad weather, we shall strive, and we shall save you yet, Mrs. Weldon—you and your little Jack, both! Yes, I feel that I shall do it.”

And he repeated:

“With the aid of God!”

“Now, Dick, can you tell where the Pilgrim is?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“Easily,” replied the novice. “I have only to consult the chart on board, on which her position was marked yesterday by Captain Hull.”

“And will you be able to put the ship in the right direction?”

“Yes, I shall be able to put her prow to the east, nearly at the point of the American coast that we must reach.”

“But, Dick,” returned Mrs. Weldon, “you well understand, do you not, that this catastrophe may, and indeed must, modify our first projects? It is no longer a question of taking the Pilgrim to Valparaiso. The nearest port of the American coast is now her port of destination.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Weldon,” replied the novice. “So fear nothing! We cannot fail to reach that American coast which stretches so far to the south.”

“Where is it situated?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“There, in that direction,” replied Dick Sand, pointing to the east, which he knew by means of the compass.

“Well, Dick, we may reach Valparaiso, or any other part of the coast. What matter? What we want is to land.”

“And we shall do it, Mrs. Weldon, and I shall land you on a good place,” replied the young man, in a firm voice. “Besides, in standing in for the land, I do not renounce the hope of encountering some of those vessels which do the coasting trade on that shore. Ah! Mrs. Weldon, the wind begins to blow steadily from the northwest! God grant that it may keep on; we shall make progress, and good progress. We shall drive in the offing with all our sails set, from the brigantine to the flying-jib!”

Dick Sand had spoken with the confidence of the seaman, who feels that he stands on a good ship, a ship of whose every movement he is master. He was going to take the helm and call his companions to set the sails properly, when Mrs. Weldon reminded him that he ought first to know the Pilgrim’s position.

It was, indeed, the first thing to do. Dick Sand went into the captain’s cabin for the chart on which the position of the day before was indicated. He could then show Mrs. Weldon that the schooner was in latitude 43° 35′, and in longitude 164° 13′, for, in the last twenty-four hours, she had not, so to say, made any progress.

Mrs. Weldon leaned over this chart. She looked at the brown color which represented the land on the right of the ocean. It was the coast of South America, an immense barrier thrown between the Pacific and the Atlantic from Cape Horn to the shores of Columbia. To consider it in that way, that chart, which, was then spread out under her eyes, on which was drawn a whole ocean, gave the impression that it would be easy to restore the Pilgrim’s passengers to their country. It is an illusion which is invariably produced on one who is not familiar with the scale on which marine charts are drawn. And, in fact, it seemed to Mrs. Weldon that the land ought to be in sight, as it was on that piece of paper!

And, meanwhile, on that white page, the Pilgrim drawn on an exact scale, would be smaller than the most microscopic of infusoria! That mathematical point, without appreciable dimensions, would appear lost, as it was in reality in the immensity of the Pacific!

Dick Sand himself had not experienced the same impression as Mrs. Weldon. He knew how far off the land was, and that many hundreds of miles would not suffice to measure the distance from it. But he had taken his part; he had become a man under the responsibility which had fallen upon him.

The moment to act had come. He must profit by this northwest breeze which was blowing up. Contrary winds had given place to favorable winds, and some clouds scattered in the zenith under the cirrous form, indicated that they would blow steadily for at least a certain time.

Dick called Tom and his companions.

“My friends,” he said to them, “our ship has no longer any crew but you. I cannot work without your aid. You are not sailors, but you have good arms. Place them, then, at the Pilgrims’ service and we can steer her. Every one’s salvation depends on the good work of every one on board.”

“Mr. Dick,” replied Tom, “my companions and I, we are your sailors. Our good will shall not be wanting. All that men can do, commanded by you, we shall do it.”

“Well spoken, old Tom,” said Mrs. Weldon.

“Yes, well spoken,” continued Dick Sand; “but we must be prudent, and I shall not carry too much canvas, so as not to run any risk. Circumstances require a little less speed, but more security. I will show you, my friends, what each will have to do in the work. As to me, I shall remain at the helm, as long as fatigue does not oblige me to leave it. From time to time a few hours’ sleep will be sufficient to restore me. But, during those few hours, it will be very necessary for one of you to take my place. Tom, I shall show you how we steer by means of the mariner’s compass. It is not difficult, and, with a little attention, you will soon learn to keep the ship’s head in the right direction.”

“Whenever you like, Mr. Dick,” replied the old black.

“Well,” replied the novice, “stay near me at the helm till the end of the day, and if fatigue overcomes me, you will then be able to replace me for a few hours.”

“And I,” said little Jack, “will I not be able to help my friend, Dick, a little?”

“Yes, dear child,” replied Mrs. Weldon, clasping Jack in her arms, “you shall learn to steer, and I am sure that while you are at the helm we shall have good winds.”

“Very sure—very sure. Mother, I promise it to you,” replied the little boy, clapping his hands.

“Yes,” said the young novice, smiling, “good cabin-boys know how to maintain good winds. That is well known by old sailors.” Then, addressing Tom, and the other blacks: “My friends,” he said to them, “we are going to put the Pilgrim under full sail. You will only have to do what I shall tell you.”

“At your orders,” replied Tom, “at your orders, Captain Sand.”